bitten lips and kissed wrists
by wordlessly
Summary: She was so unpredictable, but so full with passion and mystery. But she was unreachable. Distant. She was so distant Lucas swore sometimes he could see through her, as if she wasn't really there. But she was danger, a shot of heroin in his veins, and he loved the rush. /lucaya au


first lucaya fanfic! hope you enjoy :) also feel free to leave prompts because your ideas inspire me.

**I saw galaxies in your eyes and you only saw the dim luminescence of wavering supernovas reflected in mine. **

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She was like a shadow, produced between rays of light and a dark deeming surface. Features unfathomable, she was nothing but the curvature of her petite frame. A mere outline of who she used to be. _Murky. Bloodshot. Faded._ But she made him feel electric, sending bolts of the pure, burning desire through him. He was shot by the fire of her numbing touch. And she was wasted.

"We keep this between us," she whispered, unable to meet his graze.

Maybe that was the fifth guy. Fifth pair of hands that felt dirty, firth pair of lustful drowned eyes she didn't recognize, firth name she didn't care to ask. This was empowering she told herself. "I am the one in control." They couldn't leave her, disappear without a second thought, because she was the one that left them.

Her eyes iced, colder than her frozen limbs, she abandoned the fifth mystery man this month. "I'm Maya fucking Hart," she told herself under the lucid light of the streetlights, "and can do whatever I want." Hidden under the faux fur of her winter coat, Maya made her way to the train station shivering. Though noticeably tired and endless worn out, she looked ravishing, really. Cheeks a fire red from the stinging of the New York City cold air, eyeliner smudged, and a mess of blonde locks— she was breathtaking. And that was his first thought when he spotted the small blonde goddess (because yes, she looked like a _goddamn_ goddess to him) idly pacing on the subway platform. But he couldn't speak to her, couldn't move his quivering lips to mutter a small, "Hello." She was fucking thunder and lightning and she screamed of promises of excitement and unclenched passion, but he was just Lucas Friar. Plain and simple. Blue jeans and baseball tee. Shy guy with a sly smile. He also wasn't one to pick up girls (especially in subway stations in the middle of night).

The harsh pounding of the incoming train was enough for him to avert his graze. Focus on finding your way home, he thought. He boarded the old-fashioned R train with his eyes latched to his shoes, and by luck (or her natural clumsiness) he bumped into her small frame.

But she didn't flinch. No sharp intake of breath, no pompous eye roll, nothing. She was there, right next to him, but her eyes were somewhere distant, far and unreachable. She was an enigma, a vanilla scented, moonlight white skin, blonde haired vixen enigma. And he didn't even know her first name.

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A dream.

A false illusion driven by 3am tired eyes. She was just a dream.

This was reality. Sneaking in three hours past curfew after getting lost in an unknown, new metropolis of skyscrapers and fleeing wanderlust. Reality was thick under-eye bags on the morning of his very first day in a new school. Reality was being late to first period, and second, and yes even third period. Reality was mindlessly passing through crowded hallways filled with unknown faces and fake smiles. Seeing the blonde fox in his fourth period history class, now that was a dream.

"Mr. Friar."

_You've fucking lost your mind, Lucas. _

"Mr. Friar."

_Blink again and she'll disappear. _

"Mr. Friar!"

_Shit. _

"Hello, sir," Lucas faintly whispered, cheeks sparkling with embarrassment.

"Just take a seat Mr. Friar."

She was here and she was real. She was so tempting and alluring and he was losing his mind over a girl he hasn't met.

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He was never a fan of much attention. Always preferred to blend in, to notice and take in, but not act upon. But soon enough Lucas Friar himself became a tempter. Broad shoulders and viridescent eyes, a high school legend in a matter of three months. But in the moments where he was surrounded by unwanted lipstick stains and raw, bruised skin, the image of her, a silhouette of her fur coat and icy glare, would arise. It didn't make any sense, but she had sparked something in him. A fire, an exhaling of desire, that was not there before. They had hardly spoken two words to each other, and she didn't even take notice of him.

Even in the spring, the time of blossoming new beginnings, New York was fucking freezing. So cold that her slim finger shook as she brought the cigarette to her cheery lips. She took in a puff and exhaled it slowly through her nose, the smoke slithering its way out. Her eyes glistened in the light of immensity, a dim spark in a blue sea of despair. Smoke surrounded her, dark and consuming.

"Smoking kills," a voice echoed. It was smooth and soft and confident and sept through her like honey.

"Not fast enough."

It could have just been another day after baseball practice for Lucas. Another link in the chain of mundane routine, until he saw the dazzling blonde sitting on the sidewalk.

"I'm Lucas, by the way," he says.

"Hart."

"Hart," he repeats.

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It started slow, even staggering at first.

She was so unpredictable, but so full with passion and mystery. From the way her face lit up when she discussed her favorite artists (even though she falsely claimed, "I'll never be this good") to the way her eyes drowned in the bitter vodka inducing nights of March. But she was unreachable. Distant. She was so distant Lucas _swore_ sometimes he could see through her, as if she wasn't really there. But she was danger, a shot of heroin in his veins, and fuck he loved the rush.

"Shh, not so loud, Lucas. You're going to get us caught," Maya whispered, trying her very best to hold down the laugh that was itching at her throat.

"Well sorry I'm not adept at breaking and entering!" Lucas said as he tripped yet again on a step of the fire escape he was relentlessly climbing. But she had begged him to (more like nonchalantly suggested) and he couldn't refuse her. She was trouble. High tide crashing, short stopping trouble, and he couldn't get enough of her. She was messy and rusty and yet all kinds of beautiful.

"Damnit Cowboy, don't be such a pussy," she said entering the fifth story window they had climbed. Her voice was light and airy and oh-so tempting. Lucas had stumbled in after her, still shaky and (slightly) out of breath. The room they had crashed was dark and musty, almost unlived in. But before Lucas would ask why they had entered this exact room, Maya was nowhere to be found. Desperate for her presence (because yes, a stranger's room can be frightening), Lucas attempted to make his way around a disarray of forgotten clothes and old magazines. The air filled with a familiar eminence of vanilla and wine. Tripping over something (he couldn't see a damn thing), Lucas saved his fall by latching onto a bedside table. As he steadied himself, he came across a photograph, and in the pale light of the moon he saw blonde tendrils and blue orbs.

"I got it, Lucas," he heard from a distance. "Let's go," the blonde called from across the room, lips already stained with wine.

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It was so soft, she was sure she had imagined it.

"You can't just go around planting your lips where ever you feel, Cowboy," she whispered as he brought his forehead to hers. He was pushing her, simply testing her reaction. Couldn't be more than that. But she was strong, unfazed by his feeble game. ("I'm Maya fucking Hart"). Hazy eyes and chattering teeth, she got up and left him.

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"You waste yourself, Maya!"

He was screaming, eyes bloodshot and head boiling. She couldn't face him. Not after she had once again given herself to a blank face and unknown hands.

"I was fine until you became the only thing on my mind ," he spat.

She had ruined him with her destructive touch, stripped him of his integrity. She backed away, but he wasn't having it. Not this time. Not again. He brought his hand to hers, frosty fingers igniting a spark in her mind.

"Shit, you drive me insane, but I'm completely addicted to you." She was the the drugs in his veins, the alcohol in his bloodstream, his heightened senses and her heightened touch. He only craved more. Moremoremore.

"You can't save me," she whispered lightly.

She was gone. Lost. And it was in that moment that Lucas had first looked into her eyes and saw her. Not a shadow, not a faded image, but Maya Hart. Bruised and broken and falling apart, but addicted to him.

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**a/n: happy new years guys**!


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